“Jawohl, Herr Oberstgruppenfuehrer,” Weineck said. He paused. “Pulling back the Category A units will weaken the ongoing fighting.”
“It can’t be helped,” Alfred said, bluntly. “Let them retake a few metres of territory, if they feel they are not being lured into a trap. We will take the entire city soon enough.”
Being a barmaid, Katharine Milch had decided shortly after she had started her new job, wasn’t something she would have inflicted on anyone, particularly working in a distinctly low-end bar in the poorer parts of Berlin. Her figure, in a uniform that was practically indecent, had been complimented so many times she’d lost count, while she’d had to slap seven men for groping her breasts or pinching her bottom. Indeed, if the bartender hadn’t been a brutish lout of a man, she suspected she would have had to fight to save her virtue from the mob.
But it did have its advantages, she had to admit. The men who clustered into the bar at the end of each day were workers, workers in occupations deemed too important to let them go join the army. They were a mass of bitter resentment, caught between the demands of their work and taunts that implied that they were cowards. Katharine poured them endless mugs of cheap beer and listened to their comments, occasionally adding a comment of her own. It was odd, she conceded, but the provisional government might have outsmarted itself when it had legalised unions. There were unions popping up everywhere now.
Idiots, she thought, after hearing one man complaining about having to work overtime in an ammunition factory. It was hard to keep the scorn off her face. The wolf is at the door and you’re whining about not being able to see your wives and children.
She shook her head at the thought as her shift finally came to an end, then handed her apron over to the next barmaid with an inescapable sense of relief. Her skin stank of beer – she’d had a mug thrown over her by a half-drunk lout – yet at least she hadn’t had to use any of her training to fight them off. She wanted a shower, even though she’d endured worse during her training, but she knew that wasn’t going to happen. Water rationing was growing tighter and tighter by the day, leaving ordinary Berliners increasingly short of drinking water, let alone washing water. She’d just have to wipe herself down when she reached the apartment and hope it was enough.
The streets were dark when she walked home, forcing her to keep a sharp eye out for footpads and rapists. Berlin really had gone to the dogs, she thought, her lips twisting in disgust. Once, the crime rate had been minimal; now, there were thousands of horror stories running through the city, everything from thieves and pickpockets roaming freely in broad daylight to Untermenschen rapists running wild. Most of the stories were exaggerated – she’d planted a few herself – but there was a hard core of truth to them. Berlin was dying and the signs of death were all around her. Even if the siege was lifted tomorrow, the once-great city would never be the same again.
She reached the apartment without trouble and strode up the stairs, trying hard to keep from doing anything that might attract attention. There was little so blatantly obvious as someone trying not to sneak around, her instructors had taught her. The trick was to remain calm, composed and pretend – if only to one’s self – that one had every right to be there. Police questioned the people who seemed out of place, not the ones who looked normal.
At least they won’t ask questions if I stay in the flat, she thought. There are fewer and fewer girls on the streets these days.
“Message from Odin,” Hans said, once the door was closed. “We’re to move as planned in four days, unless it gets put back.”
Katherine gave him a long look. “Are you sure?”
“The message was repeated four times,” Hans said. He’d served with her long enough not to have any great objection to her femininity. She trusted him, just as she trusted the other men on her squad. “Four days… unless it gets put back.”
“An all-out offensive on the city,” Katherine mused. Their operations had always been planned to take place under cover of an assault; indeed, she was surprised they hadn’t been called into action sooner. “And a kidnapping operation.”
She scowled. In her experience, trying to be clever – trying to do too many things at once – was asking for trouble. She would have preferred to concentrate on one or the other, not both. But she understood, from innumerable briefings, just how important it was that both parts of the operation were pulled off successfully.
“Check with Loki,” she ordered, reluctantly. “See how many men he has in the city.”
“Understood,” Hans said. “The others have yet to report back.”
Katherine scowled. There was nothing so dangerous, she knew from bitter experience, as something that stuck out like a sore thumb… and a handful of military-age men lurking in an apartment definitely stuck out, particularly when they should be on the front lines. She’d had no choice, but to send them out, allowing them to pose as soldiers, policemen or workers… even though it ran the risk of disaster.
“When they do, inform them that we will be making the final preparations for Strike One,” she said. Thankfully, the traitors had long since lost control of large parts of Berlin. She had no idea how the Reich Council had managed to miss the growing protest mobs, but their successors hadn’t learned from their mistakes. “I’ll need to speak to Loki about Strike Two.”
She closed her eyes in irritation. Loki might have faith in his people, but she didn’t. Too many of them had slipped up in the months prior to the uprising, before the traitors had taken control of the city. Indeed, she’d been careful to ensure that Loki knew nothing about the other cells… although he would have to know, if he was going to assist her with Strike Two.
And if I put it completely in his hands, it might just be screwed up anyway, she thought, darkly. She opened her eyes. Too many bastards have already messed up – and there’s no way to know if they screwed up legitimately… or if they’re on the other side.
“The plan seems too good to be true,” Hans pointed out, carefully. “There are just too many ways it could go wrong.”
“I know,” Katherine said. Anything that looked too good to be true probably was. “And that is why we are not going to be using his plan.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Berlin, Germany Prime
23 October 1985
“They’re not pulling back,” Volker Schulze said. “They’re preparing for a new offensive.”
“It looks that way,” Voss said. He sounded tired. He’d just got back from inspecting one set of defences, Volker knew, and he’d be heading back out in an hour, after he’d given his report. “They’re still shooting at us, but the pressure has slacked. Prisoner interrogations suggest that we’re facing reservists all along the lines.”
Volker frowned. “And there’s no hope they’re pulling back?”
He shook his head before Voss could answer. It was nothing more than wishful thinking – and he knew it all too well. The Waffen-SS wasn’t setting up defensive lines to the east, or withdrawing to more defendable territory. They were massing their troops, giving them time to rest and recuperate before they launched another major offensive. And, because their reservists were still keeping up the pressure, the defenders couldn’t take advantage of the pause to rest themselves. There was, quite literally, nowhere to run.